A Study In Love
by hath57
Summary: AU. What starts out as an experiment becomes far more intimate as Sherlock Holmes fall in love, all the while untangling new cases including the sinister Hounds of Baskerville, sinister new plots by Moriarty and a mystery in Boscombe Valley. Sherlock/Amy
1. Chapter 1 A Study In Love

One knock.

"Client?" Sherlock thought to himself.

Two knocks.

"Lestrade?"

Three knocks. And more.

"Is that Amy?" Sherlock asked as he ran towards the door and threw it open, revealing the fair haired girl and the man-in-bowtie.

"Hey!" She sang, sweeping him up in an embrace. Normally, Sherlock would just stay still if anyone did this, but to his surprise, he found his arms lingering on her back and pushing her closer.

"Sherlock, it's Rory…" The Doctor began.

"He's dead." Sherlock and Amy said at the same time.

"Indeed…" The Doctor shook his head. How Sherlock worked that out he never wanted to know.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Sherlock said, burying his head into Amy's shoulder. But if he was honest with himself, a small percentage of him was glad. But why? Because Rory was Amy's husband? Sherlock had an affection for her ever since he first met her, but surely not in that way? He was Sherlock Holmes. He _certainly_ was most definitely _not_ falling in love, and he most certainly did _not_ kiss her cheek as he departed from her shoulder.

"Why are you here? Surely you should be all morose or something?" Sherlock asked. Amy let out a small laugh.

"It was a few weeks back for us, we just thought you should know. Where's John?" Amy asked, surveying the clutter.

"In Dorset for the day." Sherlock said, straightening his suit.

"I spoke to him over the phone last week." The Doctor said solemnly. "He told me about Irene Adler. That you… loved her."

"No. I don't feel those emotions. But she was the closest thing I had to an intellectual equal."

"Have you ever loved?" The Doctor asked.

"I'm not sure… I think I might, but love is a chemical defect found in the losing side. It makes people slip up. Love can also be used as leverage. If one is kidnapped, one's lover will do anything to get them back. And vice-versa."

"You need someone to love you Sherlock. Even with the disadvantages, it makes life better. Who have you felt closest to? Irene? John?"

"Amy." Sherlock blurted out, then his eyes widened. Had he just said that?

"What?" Amy asked, eyes wide. But before any more could be said, Sherlock grabbed his violin and started composing. That last statement of his certainly was something to think about.

"Da da da daaaaa, da…" Sherlock sang along amidst the questions of Amy and the Doctor. Finally, a hand intertwined with his, and he stopped playing. He looked around slowly to see Amy, smiling softly. "I don't feel these emotions." Sherlock reassured himself aloud. "I am not in love." But his face edging towards hers told differently. "I am _not_ in love." Then, their foreheads were touching. "I-I…" Was all he could muster. Their lips were dangerously close. The Doctor just watched with satisfaction. Sherlock had finally found someone. But would Amy want to stay with him on the TARDIS anymore? Unless Sherlock came to… Then, just as their lips met, the Doctor pulled Amy away.

"Come on, Amy! Things to do, people to see!" The Doctor said, and slowly lead Amy away.

"No." She said, shrugging him off.

"Amy." Sherlock said. "I am not in love. I'm not capable of love. What that was, was just a slip up. Chemical defect… No. Not me. But why am I sweating? And why do I feel an emotion akin to… elation?" Sherlock asked.

"Call this an experiment." Amy reassured.

"An experiment." Sherlock repeated. "Yes, I like that. A better name for it. Better than love."

Then, a loud knock echoed through the room from the other side of the front door. No more followed.

"Client!" Sherlock beamed, giving an impromptou hug to Amy before running over and swinging it open.

"I think that my car's been stolen." The voice rang out.

"Boring." Sherlock stated bluntly before swinging the door shut and rejoining the TARDIS crew.

"It's just for a month." Sherlock heard Amy plead.

"Amy…" The Doctor began.

"For you it can be two minutes!" Amy exclaimed.

"Why do you want to stay here?"

"Many reasons." Amy wasn't backing down. The Doctor shook his head and walked over to the door.

"One month."

"Promise."

And with that, the door opened and closed, and the Doctor was no longer with them.


	2. Chapter 2 The Hounds Of Baskerville Pt1

It had been two days since Amy began her stay at 221B, and to her sadness, cases got in the way of their relationship escalating.

Amy and John heard the front doors swing open, a number of footsteps accompanying it. Finally, Sherlock entered the room, and their eyes widened as they saw him drenched in blood, his harpoon in his hand.

"Well, that was tedious." Sherlock remarked.

"You went on the tube like that?" Amy asked, eyes wide.

"No, cab. They wouldn't take me…" Sherlock pulled a confused look, before running up the stairs. After a couple of minutes, he re-emerged in a dressing gown. "Anything in the paper?" He asked, throwing his harpoon from side to side.

"Terrorist attack in Uganda… Heh." Amy laughed, and Sherlock looked puzzled. "Another picture of you with the hat…"

"Ugh." Sherlock moaned, strolling back and forth with the harpoon.

"Peace treaty in…" John began.

"Nothing of importance… GOD!" Sherlock banged his harpoon on the floor. "John, I need some. Get me some." Sherlock ordered.

"No." John said after a pause.

"Get me some." Sherlock repeated, his face contorted in rage.

"No! We agreed, no matter what!"

"What are you talking about?" Amy piped up.

"Cigarettes. He had an addiction." John explained. "Besides Sherlock, we paid everyone off remember? No-one within a two mile radius will sell you any."

"That's a stupid idea. Who's idea was that?" Sherlock asked. John cleared his throat suggestively. "Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called, before rummaging through papers and boxes. After getting no-where, Sherlock turned to face John. "Tell me where they are. Please? Please?"

"I can't help, I'm sorry." John replied. Amy just watched with amusment. Sherlock rushed forward to a desk and began rummaging under it. "Sherlock, you're doing really well, don't give up now!" John exclaimed.

"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs Hudson cooed as she entered.

"Secret supply! What have you done with my secret supply?" Sherlock asked, enraged.

"Eh?"

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them, where are they?" Sherlock asked, throwing boxes over his shoulder.

"You never let me touch your things! Chance would be a fine thing." Mrs Hudson remarked.

"I thought you weren't my housekeeper?" Sherlock asked coldly.

"I'm not. Look, I'll make a cuppa, and maybe you can put away your harpoon!"

"I need something stronger than tea!" Sherlock snarled, brandishing his harpoon. "Seven percent stronger."

"Sherlock…" Amy smiled, walking over. "Seeing as you have some free time finally, maybe we could carry on our experiment?"

"Experiment?" John asked.

"It's our word for…" Amy began.

"Ah." John grinned. "Finally, someone who you…" But then he realised that Sherlock was shouting at Mrs Hudson. As did Amy. They had been far too engrossed in their conversation to notice.

"And by the way, I wouldn't put too much hope in your date tonight. He's got a wife in Doncaster, that nobody knows about." Sherlock scowled.

"Sherlock!" John and Amy exclaimed in unison.

"No-one except me." He then slumped down onto the sofa, pouting, as Mrs Hudson ran out of the room in tears.

"What was all that about?" Amy asked.

"Why does she have to… She just annoys me sometimes, Amy."

"Go out there, and apologise." John urged.

"Apologise?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." John nodded.

"Oh John, I envy you so much." Sherlock said, wrapping his arms around his legs.

"You envy me?" John asked.

"Your mind, so placid. Straight forward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing forward… I NEED A CASE!" Sherlock boomed, jumping up and propping his harpoon against the wall.

"YOU JUST SOLVED ONE! By harpooning a dead pig apparently!" John exclaimed, gesturing to the bloodstained shirt lying on the floor.

"Nothing on your website?" Amy offered. Sherlock simply sighed at this, before placing his laptop in John's lap.

"'Dear mister Sherlock Holmes.'" Sherlock mimicked. "'I can't find bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?'"

"Bluebell?" John asked.

"A RABBIT, JOHN!" Sherlock shouted.

"Ah." John mused.

"Ah, but there's more, before bluebell disappeared it turned luminous. 'Like a fairy' according to little Kirstie. Then the next morning, bluebell was _gone_! Hutch still locked! No sign of a forced entry… What am I saying, this is brilliant. Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Are you serious?" Amy laughed.

"It's this," Sherlock said. "Or the experiment, or Cluedo."

"Ah, no. We are never playing that again." John said.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

"Because it's not possible for the victim to have done it Sherlock. That's why."

"Only possible solution."

"It's not in the rules."

"WELL THEN, THE RULES ARE WRONG!" Sherlock shouted, Amy not flinching, just watching in amusement. God how much she loved that crazy man. Then, the doorbell rang. A pause. It didn't ring again.

"Single ring." Amy sighed, annoyed that another chance at an experiment had escaped her.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second. Client!" Sherlock beamed, spinning around and pulling Amy into a tight embrace.

"Are we ever going to go any further with the… experiment?"

"Maybe we can during the case." Sherlock smiled, kissing her on the nose before skipping over to the door and swinging it open.

"Sherlock!" John called. "Get some clothes on!"

"Oh come on, it's not like he can see my…"

"Sherlock!" John shouted, muttering an apology to the stunned man at the door as he lead Sherlock to get changed.

"Hi. I'm Amy." Amy smiled warmly.

"Um… Hello…" He was shaky, but his voice was posh. "They didn't mention you on the blog…"

"I'm new to this." Amy explained.

"I see. I'll just wait for Mr. Holmes then." The man said, stumbling over to a sofa chair.

After watching over half of a documentary called 'Horrors Of Dartmore' about science labs run by the army in Baskerville and featuring the client (now known as Henry Knight) right up to when he was about to say who killed his father, Sherlock turned off the TV.

"What was it?" Sherlock asked.

"I was about to say!" Henry said.

"Yes, on a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing." Amy smirked, and John just raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, sorry, yes of course!" Henry blew into a tissue.

"Take your time." John reassured.

"But quite quickly." Sherlock urged. At this, Amy roared with laughter, causing Henry and John to just glare at her. Sherlock on the other hand, was watching with a loving gaze.

"Do you know of Dartmore, Mr Holmes?" Henry asked after Amy had finished.

"No." Sherlock sighed, bored.

"It's an amazing place, it's bleak, but beautiful!" Henry smiled to himself.

"Not interested, moving on." Sherlock waved his hands, and John raised his eyebrow, Amy holding back a laugh.

"We used to go out for walks, my Dad and me. Every night we'd walk out onto the moor." Henry reminisced.

"Yes, skipping to the night that your Dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

"There's a sort of local landmark called Jewer's Hollow. That's an ancient name for the devil."

"So?" Sherlock sighed, unimpressed.

"Did you see the devil that night?" John asked.

"Yes." Henry replied shakily. "It was huge. Cold black fur with red eyes. It got him. Tore at him. Tore him apart. I can't remember anything else, they found me the next morning just wandering along the moor. His body was never found."

"Enormous, cold red eyes, black fur…" John mused. "An enormous dog? Wolf?"

"Or a genetic experiment." Sherlock shared a glance with Amy, who had sobered up and was all too serious. This could easily be the work of an alien…

"Are you laughing at me, Mister Holmes?" Henry asked, misinterpreting the glance.

"Why? Are you joking?" Sherlock asked, all too serious.

"My Dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville. About the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"And I assume it did wonders for Dartmore tourism."

"Henry, whatever happened to your Dad it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?" Amy asked.

"I'm not sure how you can help Mr Holmes since you find it all so funny." Henry scowled, standing up and walking to the door.

"Because of what happened last night." Sherlock stated.

"What happened last night?" Amy asked.

"How do you know?" Henry asked, eyes wide.

"I don't know, I notice. You came up from Dartmore on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl across from you on the train fancied you. Although you are initially keen you've now changed your mind. You are however extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down Mister Knight and please _do_ smoke, I'd be delighted." Sherlock smiled.

"How on earth did you notice all that?" Henry asked after sitting down, frowning.

"It's not important…" John began.

"Punctured out holes where your ticket's been checked…" Sherlock began.

"Not now, Sherlock." John protested.

"Please? I've been cooped up in here for ages." Sherlock moaned, and Amy smiled at him. He was so adorable.

"It's called showing off!" John hissed.

"Of course, I am a show off! That's what we do! Train napkin, used to mop up the spilled coffee. Stain shows you didn't take milk, but there are traces of ketchup on it, around your lips and on your coat sleeves. Cooked breakfast, nearest thing those trains can manage, probably a sandwich."

"How do you know it was… disappointing?" Henry asked.

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl. Female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin, I can tell from the angle she was sitting opposite you. Later, after she got off I imagine, you used it to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the last four numbers. You remembered the last four didgets yourself, you wanted to keep it so you wrote it back down. Just now though you used it to blow your nose, so maybe you aren't into her afterall. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers… Your shaking fingers… No chance to smoke while on a train, no time to smoke one before you got a cab here. It's just after 9:15, your desperate. You were on the first train from Dartmore to London so something important must've happened last night, am I wrong?"

"No. Your right. Your absolutely right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick…"

"It's my job." Sherlock leant forward. "Now shut up and smoke."


	3. Chapter 3 The Hounds Of Baskerville Pt2

**Thank you people who have put the story on Story Alert and favourites! However some reviews and comments on where I can make differences and stuff would extensively boost my productivity, so that would be appreciated.**

**Right, in this chap we see some more Sherlock/Amy moments. :D**

"Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?" John asked as Henry lit the roll-up he had retrieved from his coat pocket. As Henry opened his mouth to speak, John and Henry's eyes both fell on Sherlock who was slowly walking towards the cigarette in Henry's hand, before inhaling some of the smoke and returning to his chair, moaning in pleasure. Amy stared, wide-eyed.

"That must be a ... quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this…" John was cut off again as Henry exhaled some smoke from his cigarette, and Sherlock noisily crept over and hovered up the smoke, before running back to his seat. Amy grinned wildly. Sherlock's childishness was what made him… well… _Sherlock_. "...to account for it?" John finished.

"That's what Doctor Mortimer says." Henry answered, breaking his gaze on Sherlock.

"Who?" John asked.

"Therapist." Sherlock and Henry answered simultaneously. Henry stared at Sherlock, again amazed by his deductions.

"Obviously." Sherlock smiled.

"Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons." Henry told them, not daring to smoke after Sherlock's little outbursts.

"And what happened when you went back to Jewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

"Yes, if I wanted poetry, I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier. What did you see?" Sherlock pressed on, rolling his eyes as he did. John breathed in heavily, trying to divert his attention away from killing his flatmate.

"Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart." Henry said, finally bringing the cigarette to his lips. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, sighing.

"Man's or a womans?" John asked.

"Neither. They were…" Henry began.

"Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?" Sherlock asked, exasperated.

"Yes, they were…" Henry began again.

"No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking." Sherlock smiled weakly, waving him off.

"No, but what about the footprints?" Henry asked.

"Oh, they're probably paw prints, could be anything therefore nothing! Of to Dartmore with you, have a cream tea on me." Sherlock buttoned up his suit jacket and wandered into the kitchen, Amy in hot pursuit like a lovestruck puppy. No matter what she'd seen, Sherlock was the most fascinating of all.

"Mister Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" Henry called, turning his head to see Sherlock. At this, Sherlock spun around, Amy copying soon after.

"Say that again?" Sherlock asked.

"I found the footprints, they were…" Henry began.

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them." Sherlock demanded.

"Mister Holmes…" Henry paused, confused at why Sherlock asked him to recite it, before shaking his head and doing so. "They were the footprints of a gigantic… hound…"

"I'll take the case." Sherlock nods, pacing around the room with his hands in a prayer position in front of his mouth.

"Sorry, what?" John asked.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising." Sherlock said while pacing.

"No-no-no, sorry, _what_? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're very promising?" John asked in disbelief.

"It's _nothing_ to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren't listening. Baskerville seems like the best place to start."

"Ah! You'll come down, then?" Henry asked, clearly pleased. 

"No, I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry – putting my best team onto it." Sherlock smiled, pointing at Amy and then at John. "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself. However, Amy might! Still, send me the information, just incase, eh?"

"What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining…" John began.

"Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit! NATO's in uproar." Sherlock interrupted.

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Henry asked, eyes lingering on Amy and then at John. It was clear that he didn't judge them as highly as Sherlock. Putting on a regretful expression, Sherlock shook his head, John groaning.

"Okay, okay." John stood up, Sherlock smiling smugly. John walked over to the mantelpiece and retrieved a packet of cigarettes from under the skull. After putting the skull back down, he tossed the packet to Sherlock, who caught it and instantly tossed it over his shoulder.

"I don't need these anymore, I'm going to Dartmoor." Sherlock smiled, walking back into the kitchen. "You go on ahead, Henry, we'll follow later."

"Er, sorry, so you _are_ coming?" Henry asked, hopeful. Sherlock walked back into the room with new-found elegance.

"Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Sherlock smiled. Henry staggered out of the door, and Sherlock turned to John. "John, pack. Amy, you only have a few clothes (Sherlock had brought them the previous day for her, noting her clothing style) so I'll pack them in my suitcase."

After racing into his bedroom (with a pull out bed he had brought in it), he picked up Amy's clothes and threw them into the suitcase, before practically throwing a draw open and retrieving several suits.

"Your excited about this, I can tell." Amy laughed.

"That I am, Amy Pond." Sherlock smiled, dancing around the bed as he threw socks and a book entitled 'Sparkling Cyanide'. Sherlock twirled as he scooped Amy up into his arms, and she laughed, but it soon died down as Sherlock froze and just stared at her. What was he doing? Was he going to do what she was wanting him to do for days?

Sherlock felt strange. He couldn't properly comprehend what was happening, everything was a blur. He could barely notice himself leaning in slowly, but he finally noticed when he crushed his lips to hers subconsciously. His old self would've pulled away immediately and have acted awkward and distant towards Amy for the rest of the day, but he found himself melting against his companion, craving more than he ever had. This definitely couldn't be taken down to just being a momentary relapse, because before they knew it, they were wrestling on their bed, his suitcase facedown on the floor and both of them pulling at eachother's clothes.

"I'm ready if you... SHERLOCK!" John spluttered as he walked in, and Sherlock and Amy spun around, out of their trance. "Wha… I didn't even think you did this… Shall I come back later?" John asked, diving for the door. Sherlock glanced at where John was standing, before looking back at Amy.

"We should…" Sherlock began.

"Yeah…" Amy agreed awkwardly and sadly, sitting up on the bed.

Maybe after the case they could continue that little escapade.

**PLEASE review!**


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